


Winging It

by orphan_account



Series: The King and the Skater [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Crossover, Mentioned Side Relationships, Multi, Rotating POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “-Critics have been raving about the incredible on-stage chemistry between Oikawa Tooru (The King) and Katsuki Yuuri (The Skater), and many speculate that their romance extends off the stage as well. Could #Katsuoi become the next big thing? Comment below to share your opinion!”Phichit rolls his eyes, exiting out of the article with a purposeful swipe of his thumb. If only they knew the truth: Oikawa lost his heart backstage to Iwaizumi, while Yuuri is head-over-heels for a guy in the orchestra pit. (Literally- Yuuri fell on him once.)AKA the Crossover Musical AU where Yuuri has stage fright, Oikawa makes excuses to hang out on set, and literally everyone plays wingman at some point or another.





	1. Behind the Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don't know how this happened- I was playing around with my crackpot combo AU generator and I got Crossover AU + Musical AU and well... this was the result. Thank you so much to my friend Amber for beta-reading and to Divya for lending me her musical knowledge, you guys are AMAZING! 
> 
> (Divya, this one's for you- I SAID I was going to write you a Musical AU, so here is a Musical AU.) 
> 
> This fic will probably have around twelve chapters, and future chapters will be longer. And um... without further ado, please enjoy this insanity?

Oikawa slipped inside the theater and closed the door behind him, the key warm in his fingers. He headed down the stairwell and sat in the fourth row, one spot from the right, exactly where he always sat. Hanamaki said it was weird that he had a designated seat, but then again, Hanamaki thought Oikawa was weird in general, so his opinion didn't count.

The theater was empty, rows and rows of unoccupied seats rising up around him. The stage was tired and unpolished, heavy velvet curtains hanging limply from the sides; the tape markers were peeling from the floor, and a pile of equipment was stacked haphazardly against the back wall. It was quiet, at least, which helped with Oikawa’s seemingly ever-present headache.

It sounded so romantic to be a rising star. People asked him all the time about his supposedly glamorous lifestyle, and Oikawa had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. He wanted to tell them that he waitered in two different restaurants and wore his pretty smile whether he wanted to or not, that he snatched up whatever roles he was offered and muttered lines under his breath while he cleaned the tables.

At six, he came back home to his dingy flat and flopped onto the couch before checking in the fridge to see if there was anything microwavable. His roommate, Kuroo, would usually be in the other room, loud singing emanating through the thin walls. Kuroo was a costume designer, and their tiny flat was crammed with bolts of fabric, overturned dishes of sequins spilling across the tables.

This musical, _The King and the Skater_ , was supposed to be both of their big breaks. And tonight, when he came home, he saw Kuroo surrounded by mountains of colorful fabric, a dozen tabs open on his computer while he frantically downloaded patterns. The stress was almost visible underneath the surface of his skin, and when the computer crashed, he’d finally snapped, tears rolling down his cheeks while he dry-heaved into a strip of red cloth.

He was at Kenma’s currently, the tech friend that always managed to calm him down. And, well, Oikawa was here now. Alone. It occurred to him that he skipped dinner, so he rifled through his bag and fished out an energy bar, munching on it while he thumbed through his texts. There was one from Kuroo: _sorry i freaked out on u, i’ll be back to normal tomorrow._

Oikawa texted back, _don’t worry, it’s ok_ _, have fun at kenma’s ;)_ and got only a betrayed emoji in return. Oikawa laughed slightly to himself- come on, _anyone_ could tell how in love Kuroo was with Kenma, and Oikawa wasn’t just _anyone_ when it comes to romance.

There was a rustling from the stage, and Oikawa nearly shrieked, clapping his hands over his mouth just in time. He’d thought he was in here _alone,_ and he sank down into the seat and scrabbled to pre-dial 911 on his phone in case anything happened and he had to run for his life. A figure clad in all black emerged onstage, and Oikawa prepared to bolt, heart in his mouth.

But the guy only stepped onto center stage and tapped on the mic once, twice, before saying, “Your majesty, shall we skate?”

This turn of events was so strange that it took Oikawa a second to process, but when he did, he immediately closed out of the dialer and opened up the vidcam. He accidentally hit the camera button and- oh _god_ , that was an _awful_ accidental selfie delete delete delete- but fortunately, the guy on stage didn't notice the movement, and Oikawa managed to film over three-quarters of the skater’s monologue before the guy started to sing.

Oikawa nearly fell off his seat. _Holy. Fucking. Shit._

This guy was _good._ When Oikawa squinted, he could just make out his face- damn the crappy stage lighting- and Oikawa vaguely remembered him as one of those nameless guys on stage crew that dragged the props in and out. But what the hell was this guy doing on tech? Because this guy absolutely should not be back _there_ when he could be out _here._

His voice was full and melodious, the notes hanging richly in the air before transitioning into the next ones, and he moved with an ethereal grace that belied the years of work behind his easy movements. He was beautiful, gorgeous in a raw and untuned way; with no accompaniment music and the microphone on the wrong setting, his performance was _enthralling_. When he looked out into the imaginary crowd and asked, “Shall we skate?” Oikawa was tempted to jump over from where he’s sitting and do just that.

But he didn't. Instead, Oikawa watched as the guy did an awkward little bow at the end of his show (if only he’d known that he actually had an audience), and sat down on the stage. He planted his hands behind his back, legs swinging back and forth as if he were planning to stay there all night.

And he might have, had Oikawa not moved out of his seat to… tell him how great his performance was? To beg him to abandon tech? To yell at him for being so talented? Oikawa didn't get the chance to do any, because as soon as he stepped out of the shadows, the guy up front startled and _ran_.

Oikawa did the only reasonable thing in this situation: he chased after him. The guy disappears backstage, and Oikawa kicked aside the door and- _dammit,_ he didn’t know his way around, why didn’t he pay more attention to the crew members, _dammit_ \- and by the time Oikawa reached the backstage exit, the other guy was nowhere to be seen.

\---

“Hot _damn,_ ” Hanamaki said, straw hanging out of his mouth.

They were drinking milkshakes at a cozy little cafe, and Hanamaki was watching the video for the third time this evening.

“You said that already,” Oikawa said.

“Yeah, but like, _hot damn._ Why couldn’t you have taken a better video?”

“So ungrateful, Makki~” Oikawa chastened, clucking his teeth. “And anyway, it’s not like _you_ could have done better. Do you know how _awful_ the lighting in the theater is?”

Hanamaki threw him a dirty look, and Oikawa guiltily shrank back as he remembered that Hanamaki worked lights in performances.

Hanamaki chewed on his straw. “All I’m saying is that I’d let that guy do me, and I’m _straight_. Mostly straight. Half straight. The percentage is dropping as I speak. Why didn’t you just call me over there and have me change the lighting for you?”

“Makki!” Oikawa said, slamming his head on the table. “You’re supposed to be the _reasonable_ one here! How am I supposed to be ridiculous when I don’t have you to call me out on it?”

Hanamaki grinned a little evilly and leaned over. “How about this- let's switch roles. You be the sarcastic logical guy and I’ll be the arrogant little shit. Let’s call it practice for your auditions.”

Oikawa let out an indignant squawk before getting into character. “Well, Hanamaki,” he said, imitating Hanamaki’s patented drawl, “First off, the whole thing was unexpected, so _excuse me_ if this video isn’t as high-resolution as those k-dramas you secretly watch. And second off, the guy wouldn’t have sang at all if he knew I was there. As soon as he saw me, he _ran._ ”

“I guess you really are just that ugly, Tooru-chan!” Hanamaki gasped in a high falsetto. Oikawa wanted to punch him- he did _not_ sound like that. “And I would’ve _thought_ you were faster than that, but I guess you’re becoming an old man already!”

Hanamaki was having way too much fun with this for Oikawa’s liking. “Cut scene,” Oikawa said.

“Aw.”

“This is just another one of your _twisted, demented_ plots to make fun of me. And when I’ve done absolutely _nothing wrong_ ~”

“Except, you know, _exist,_ ” Hanamaki drawled. “And anyway, how can you be so annoying all the time? I was literally you for two sentences and it felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Don’t you ever get tired?”

“It’s my _charm,_ ” Oikawa sniffed, and Hanamaki snorted and let the matter drop.

“But seriously, he just… ran?” Hanamaki asked, and Oikawa nods vigorously. Hanamaki frowned and took a purposeful sip of milkshake. “And you really have no idea who he is?”

“I vaguely remember him as being part of stage crew.”

Hanamaki nodded. “I’m not too familiar with those guys either, but the video isn’t _too_ crappy, so someone who knew him would probably be able to recognize him.”

“Would you cut it out with insulting my video skills? _So_ rude. I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”

“Cause I’m your only friend.”

This time, Oikawa _did_ punch him.

\---

The thought of the unknown dancer haunted him all throughout work the next day and carried well into the night. It was past twelve, and Oikawa was still awake, _Shall We Skate_ playing over and over again in his head as he stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d stuck all over the ceiling.

Theater wasn’t just about one person; it was the product of multiple people, the result of a giant machine made up of hundreds of little chains and gears. Oikawa was one of the people who understood that _best._ He knew the only way he shone was to help other people shine, and this guy, this _skater,_ was the perfect puzzle piece. The one you found under the couch cushion after a long search, the one that completed the picture.

Kuroo snored softly in his room, and Oikawa got out of bed in his pajamas and opened his laptop. He created a new email address and bulldozed past all the introduction-to-your-account crap, immediately hitting _compose new email._

He titled it with a simple _Tech Crew Member Sings Shall We Skate_ and attached the video, then typed in Sugawara’s and Daichi’s emails. They were the co-directors of the show. Oikawa told himself, _Don’t turn back now._

He hit send.


	2. Stage Fright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Kubo actually came up with a summary for the King and the Skater- http://www.ricedigital.co.uk/yuri-on-ice-co-creator-gives-the-king-and-the-skater-plot-summary/ 
> 
> Trigger warning for a panic attack- starts from 'And then he slammed back into reality with a jolt' and ends at 'Tears continued to fall'.

It had been ten days since Yuuri had bolted out of the theater, ten long, worried days where Yuuri had bitten his nails to shreds and chewed his lips until the skin started to flake and crack. Ten days of wondering if he had been recognized, ten days of worrying that he would be coerced into auditioning for the show, but he was safe now. Auditions for the skater had ended two hours ago, and Yuuri could finally breathe.

He splashed cold water on his face, smoothing down his hair and re-adjusting his glasses before walking out out of the bathroom. He, Phichit, Guang-Hong, and Leo were eating dinner at a fancy restaurant, the kind with golden chandeliers and three-tiered chocolate fountains, to say farewell to their last week of freedom. When the show began, they wouldn’t even have time to eat and sleep.

As he made his way back to their booth, he saw Leo, Guang-Hong, and Phichit all crowded around that familiar hamster-covered phone. Now, that in itself wasn’t unusual- the three of them had spent so much time on their various SNS accounts that their phones were considered permanent fixtures of the set. No, what _was_ unusual was the comments they were making as they huddled around it.

“Is that… Yuuri?” Guang-Hong tentatively asked. “I’m not the only one who thinks that looks like Yuuri, right?”

“No, that _has_ to be Yuuri,” Leo said. “But… can someone please explain how this is possible? Does Yuuri have a twin? Was he hypnotized? Was he _drunk_? He pole-danced while he was drunk once, right? Guang-Hong?”

Guang-Hong worried his lower lip. “Leo, that’s _really_ not something I want to think about, and anyway, I don’t think that’s it. Have any of you guys ever heard Yuuri sing?”

“Maybe one time, to the radio? He always fake-sings, though…”

“What are you guys watching?” Yuuri asked, panic settling inside his stomach. His gut felt like it was being twisted into knots. Phichit’s head immediately whipped in his direction, and he spoke for the first time since Yuuri had come over.  

“Explain,” Phichit said, sliding the phone over.

Yuuri rewound the video and hit play. The video was shaky and badly-recorded, but Yuuri knew at once what it was as soon as he saw it. It felt like seeing himself in a mirror; Yuuri could feel every note, every twist and turn reverberate in his body as he watched, mesmerized by the man in the video. Was that… _him_? He looked so carefree and confident, blissfully unaware of the audience, only focused on the music and dance.

And then he slammed back into reality with a jolt, the severity of the situation crashing down around his feet. Oh god. That was _him_ . And if Phichit had seen it, then _everyone_ had seen it, saw it, or would be seeing it in the future- and _oh my god oh my god oh my god_ , someone get him out of there, the lighting was too bright and he couldn’t _breathe_ -

“You _bastard_ ,” Phichit was saying. “I can’t believe you never told us you were this talented! We’re your _friends_ , and besides, I would kill to be able to- Yuuri? Yuuri? Are you okay?”

Yuuri was falling, the world around him too harsh and vivid, his breath coming out in short gasps as he cupped his hands around his face. This couldn’t be happening. Yuuri could feel himself being dragged out of the restaurant by firm arms (“Don’t worry, Phichit, Leo and I will take care of the bill-” Was that Guang-Hong?), and then he was standing outside the door, the cold night air burning his lungs.

The parking lot was blissfully quiet, street lights casting shadows across the pavement. Yuuri fell against the ground, Phichit’s hand against his shoulder, as he focused on drawing in breath. It was better since there weren’t so many people around, but Yuuri still felt like he was dying. Tears leaked out of his eyes and froze in rivulets against his face.

“Just breathe, Yuuri, take your time,” Phichit said. “It’s okay, shhhh…”  

And Yuuri felt terrible, because why wasn’t Phichit angrier? Yuuri _had_ kept his talent a secret from him when he was supposed to be Phichit’s best friend, but here Phichit was, kind and gentle as always. Yuuri didn’t deserve that. Tears continued to fall.

After what felt like eternity, his breathing evened, and he sat for a moment with the night air freezing his face and seeping through his clothes. He wiped his face with his jacket sleeve, trying to quietly sniffle. Phichit just stood there. “Yuuri?”

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” Yuuri said. “Sorry. I knew we were all supposed to go to the arcade afterwards, I ruined that, I’m sorry…”

Phichit shook his head. “You’re fine. You wanna go home? It’s cold out here.”

Yuuri nodded, and they made their way over to Phichit’s car in silence. Funny enough, it was seeing the hamster stickers on Phichit’s bumper that finally calmed him down. They strapped themselves into the car, Phichit taking the driver’s seat, and it was quiet except for the classical music playing from the radio, _Nikiforov’s Sonatina._

“You wanna talk about it?” Phichit asked, breaking the silence. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

Yuuri wiped his face again and pressed his head against the window. “No, you deserve an explanation, at least. So, you know about my anxiety, right?”

Phichit nodded. _Go on_.

“I- I have really bad stage fright along with it. When I was younger, I was in all of these music and dance classes. I loved it, but whenever I was on stage, I froze. It was really bad, and it got worse as I got older. I remember that one time I was on stage in front of hundreds or thousands of people, and nothing would come out of my mouth. I stood there like an idiot for five whole minutes until someone lead me off the stage. It was so humiliating.”

“I was on a lot of medication then to help, and they would sort of help calm me down. It worked, and then I got addicted. One day, I overdosed. I could never go onstage after that, and I don’t take all those meds anymore. Just two pills to help me get through the day. Nothing else.”

“Set’s the next best thing, though,” Yuuri said listlessly. “I was as close as possible to the stage, to all the music, but no one would have to see me. And I met you and Guang-Hong and Leo and Iwaizumi and everyone else, and most of the time, it’s enough. But this show was your favorite, and you showed me all the movies and everything, and you made me love it too.”

Phichit smiled weakly. “It’s contagious, isn’t it? But sorry, continue.”

“So I stole the monologues for the parts and memorized them, and I’m friends with Minako- you know, the choreographer? And she ran the steps through with me, so that’s how I know the dances. And ten days ago, I thought the theater was _empty_ , and I still have no idea who it was that took a video of me…But anyway, I’m really sorry for everything. I understand if you just want to dump me on the road right now, we’re at a red light and everything.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit said seriously, and Yuuri turned around to look at him. His face was strangely serious in the glow. “Listen to me. That performance was _brilliant_. And I can’t force you to do anything, but understand this: if you _do_ end up choosing to return to the stage, I’ll be with you every step of the way. Got it?”

“Got it,” Yuuri said shakily.

“Good,” Phichit said. “And dump you on the side of the road so that some other theatre troupe can discover you? No _way_ . I can’t believe Crossover Inc has a _musical genius_ in our midst!”

“I-I’m not a musical genius! That’s Oikawa Tooru!”

“Shut _up_ , you so are,” Phichit said. “Hashtag Yuuri Katsuki FTW!”

“Phichit, this isn’t Instagram.”

“Sorry, but _let me have my moment in peace_.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

\---

Despite his talk with Phichit, nothing could have prepared Yuuri for the shock he received at seeing his name at the top of the cast list on Friday. He stared numbly at the paper in his hands, stapled to the practice schedule and the thick packet of script. _What_.

“Waah! So cool!” Yuuri heard, and he whirled around to see a kid with bright-orange hair waving his arms around excitedly. He vaguely recognized him as ensemble. “I saw your video and it was all like _bwah_ and _gwah_ -”

“Th-thanks?” Yuuri said, at loss for words. “Um- I don’t think I’ll be doing the play, this was a mistake, uh…” He internally cringed at the disappointment on the other’s face, as if Yuuri had given him the moon and then yanked it away.

“Hey,” another voice said, this time, the familiar one of Iwaizumi Hajime. “Good luck. We’re all cheering you on from backstage, you know.” Iwaizumi looked a bit awkward, as if someone had put it up to him to say the last part, and Yuuri gave a weak smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’ll be doing the show, though. I didn’t even audition,” he explained. “Um… like I said, this was a mistake, um, yeah…” Oh, wow. First, Yuuri had let down a guy who seemed like sunshine incarnate, and now he was making Iwaizumi’s eyebrows do The Furrow. This was not a good day.

“Really?” Iwaizumi said. “I saw the video, though. You don’t belong backstage.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said weakly. “Um, bye.” Then he fled, Iwaizumi’s words reverberating through his mind. _Damn it_. He ran down the hallways, weaving left and right before arriving, extremely disheveled, at Sugawara’s office. He rapped on the door twice with a shaking hand, and Sugawara immediately opened it with a smile.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he said. “I’m not surprised to see you here. Come on in.”

His office looked like how Yuuri felt, which was to say, a complete mess. Every available surface was stacked with papers or post-it notes, files strewn across the desks. Sugawara moved a pile of folders off a swivel chair and patted it. “Sit down,” he said, his voice exceedingly gentle while brooking no argument. Yuuri supposed this was how he became co-director of the show.

“Um,” Yuuri started. Smooth. “Sugawara? I… didn’t audition for the play. There must have been some kind of mistake.” Sugawara merely lifted his eyebrows.

“So are you saying the person in the video _wasn’t_ you?” Sugawara asked. “Because I’ve gotten it emailed to me over and over again, and the general consensus was that you were the actor. JJ said that it was himself, but he was… very much in the minority.”

“Yes, it was me,” Yuuri said quietly. “But if you choose me, I will say on no uncertain terms that you’ll regret it. I’m unable to perform in front of crowds. I’m sure that there are plenty of people that could take over my role.”

Sugawara was still smiling. “But your talent outshone all of them. That’s why I chose you.” He leaned forward. “Yuuri, I don’t think you understand exactly how _good_ you are.”

“It doesn’t matter how good I am,” Yuuri said, and it hurt him to say it out loud. The words felt like acid, burning through his tongue. “On opening night, I’ll freeze up. I’ll ruin the entire production. Please, choose someone else.”

Sugawara shook his head. “Backstage isn’t doing you justice,” he said. “And let me tell you this- here at Crossover, we give people chances. We’re not going to mock you if you make a mistake, if you’re trying. We’ve got plenty of people that have been hiding their talents, just like you, but when they stepped onstage, they _shone_. You’re amazing, Yuuri. I want you to see how amazing you are, too, and this time, in high resolution. In real life.”

“But,” Sugawara continued, cutting off Yuuri’s response. “This is your decision, not mine. I can’t force you to say yes. However, promise me that you’ll think about it. Give me your final answer in three days, and in return, I promise I won’t question it. Got it?”

“Got it,” Yuuri said numbly.

“I’ll have Yachi show you out. It was nice to speak to you, Yuuri.”

“You- you too,” Yuuri stuttered. He knocked over his chair as he left and hastened to straighten it.

A tiny blonde girl was standing outside the doorway. “Hi?” She squeaked. “Uh- Um…”

“Hey, I’m Yuuri,” he said. “And-”

“I’m Yachi! Yachi Hitoka, but most people just call me Yachi.” They rounded the corner of the hallway, and Yuuri wondered where he’d heard her name before. A few seconds later, it clicked.

“Oh! Were you the one who designed the posters for _When He Came to Town_?” She nodded. “They were gorgeous.”

“Thank you!” She said, her face breaking into a wide smile. “And you’re probably sick of people telling you this, but I watched that video, and you were so amazing! I kept on hitting replay.”

Something in Yuuri’s expression must have been wrong because Yachi balked. “Uh- I’m sorry, um, I’m probably messing this up, aren’t I? I apologize!”  

“No, no, you’re fine! That’s really nice of you to say. It’s just, um, I’m not used to the attention, that’s all. I’ve been working backstage ever since I’ve been here…so, the spotlight hasn’t really been my scene.” He laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Actually, um, that’s what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Really? Wait- is _that_ why Sugawara had you escort me out?”

“You really don’t know Suga very well, do you, Yuuri?” Yachi laughed. “But uh, he sent me here to tell you about the anxiety therapy group that Yamaguchi and I go to.”

“Who’s Yamaguchi?”

“He’s my friend. The situation we’re in is kind of similar to yours. We work in publicity, but we both wanted to try out for the musical. We were really scared, though, so we agreed to do it together- and we _did_ , and um, we both got in, I’ve got a bit role, Villager B, and I know it’s not much compared to yours and everything…”

“No, um- I think it’s really brave,” Yuuri said, completely meaning it.

“Th-thank you! The thing is, though, our theater troupe has a therapy group to help get our stage fright under control, but… um… it’s been really helpful so far, and I was wondering if you’d like to come to the next meaning tomorrow?”

Yuuri had never been good at refusing. “Yes, thank you so much for offering!”

“No problem, um, see you there!” She waved, then hurried down another hallway. Yuuri watched her go, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

\---

Later, in his apartment, Yuuri picked up a Magic 8-Ball that Phichit had given him and asked, “Should I really go for it? Do you think I can?”

He shook the ball, staring hard at the little window. _Signs Point to Yes._

Yuuri shook his head. _Phichit_.

\---

Yachi was waiting for him outside the theater, dressed in a pretty white blouse and blue skirt. She brightened when she spotted him, waving him over. “Yuuri! Over here!”

Yuuri chained his bicycle to a metal railing and ran over to where she stood. “Sorry I’m late, I ran into a pushy group of pedestrians on the way here.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still really early,” she said, pulling open the door. Yuuri stood in dismay for a moment- he was used to holding doors open for other people, not vice versa- but he reminded himself that Yachi and whomever this Yamaguchi was probably felt the exact same way.

“Yamaguchi should be here soon- oh, wait, there he is. Yamaguchi!”

The first thing about Yamaguchi that Yuuri noticed was how tall he was. The second thing was how Yamaguchi wore his height, as if it were an uncomfortable piece of clothing that he’d been forced into. The third was that Yamaguchi was glaring at Yuuri in a very protective manner, the tacos on his sweatshirt practically vibrating with antagonism too.

“Hey, Yamaguchi!” Yachi said, before seeing the look on his face. “Oh- wait, Yamaguchi, that’s Yuuri. He’s the guy I told you about.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi said, looking thoroughly abashed. “Um. Hey. Yuuri. Sorry, I thought you were Yachi’s boyfriend or something.”

“No! No, it’s okay!” Yuuri said. Yachi was out of his league, anyway.

“You’re that guy in the video, right?” Yamaguchi asked. “You’re so good!”

“Yeah, well, only when people aren’t watching…” Yuuri mumbled. “Or when I don’t think people are watching… I still have no idea who took that video.”

“I mean, it wasn’t me,” Yamaguchi said. “But, um, are you here with us because you also have stage fright? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking! Sorry, that was rude of me to assume!”

“Yamaguchi, we’re at an anxiety support group, I think that was okay to say,” Yachi said, smiling exasperatedly. “Anyway, let’s make a rule to not apologize to each other? Because, you know, I feel like that’s something we all do too much.”

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea,” Yuuri said.

Yamaguchi nodded. “I’m kind of curious to see how long I can go without saying sorry.”

“Five minutes?” Yachi said. “I think that was your record last time.”

“It was longer.”

“Five minutes and one second, then.”

“Yachi!” Yamaguchi exclaimed, and Yachi burst into a fit of giggles.

“Sor- I- uh, dangit!” Yamaguchi laughed harder. Yuuri cracked a smile himself; it was good to know he wasn’t the only person who apologized too much.

“Anyway, what are we doing here?” Yuuri asked, glancing around the room. “It’s my first time at one of these meetings- why’s there a coloring book on the shelf?”

“Oh, that’s mine,” Yachi said. “It calms me down if I’m stressed. Wait, is that weird to you? That’s probably weird!”

“That’s not weird at all, actually, when I’m nervous, I tend to overeat.” Yuuri hadn’t meant to let that slip, but Yachi didn’t seem to mind, simply taking a pack of colored pencils out of her purse and opening the book.

“Really? But you look fine, though,” Yamaguchi said.

Yuuri sighed, thinking of the gut he had underneath the piles of loose clothing. “Thanks, but that’s really not true.”

“Anyway,” Yachi said, effectively cutting off any retort Yamaguchi might have had, “We’re like, putting together a plan, sort of? Um, it’s a daily treatment with the end goal of getting over stage fright. We’ve been doing a lot of research for it- I’m like a walking encyclopedia for stage fright at this point, that’s how much time I’ve been reading up on it.”

She pulled a wad of papers from her bag and handed them to Yuuri; most of it was articles printed off the internet, information that could potentially be useful highlighted and marked in neat little script. “Wow,” Yuuri said. “This is _amazing_.”

Yachi blushed. “Uh-um, thanks!”

Yamaguchi pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “I’ve got the rough draft of the plan here. The milestone objectives have been pretty much set, but- hey? Yachi?”

“What?” Yachi said, her voice a little too innocent.

“Why,” Yamaguchi asked, “Does Day Thirty of the plan say ‘Talk to Tsukishima’?”

“Who’s Tsukishima?” Yuuri asked.

“Just- someone that Yamaguchi should talk to,” Yachi squeaked. “It also says here that I’d talk to Shimizu if you did that- Yamaguchi, please stop turning purple!”

“I can’t talk to _Tsukishima_ ,” Yamaguchi hissed, his face indeed resembling an eggplant at this point. “I’d be much better off without him knowing I exist, thank you very much!”

“But if you can’t face Tsukishima, how are you going to face the thousands of people when you’re onstage?” Yachi asked, twiddling her thumbs nervously. “Please, Yamaguchi, I know you have it in you!”

“Fine,” Yamaguchi mumbled, head down. “But if I die, I’m blaming it on you.”

“You won’t die,” Yachi said, and Yuuri tried to tune out of the conversation out of respect for Yamaguchi. Fortunately, Yamaguchi was saved from answering by a dark-haired man wearing glasses and a kind smile that walked into the room.

“Hey!” Yachi and Yamaguchi chorused, Yamaguchi’s voice thick with relief.

“Hi, Yachi, Yamaguchi, and, um…what’s your name?”

“Yuuri.”

“And Yuuri. I’m Takeda, and I’m kind of the unofficial lead of this group. Is this all of us, by the way? I was hoping that Azumane would come this time…”

Yamaguchi gave an awkward nod, and Yachi looked down at the ground. Takeda hastily changed the subject. “So, Yuuri, do you know about the plan?”

“Yeah, Yachi and Yamaguchi filled me in on the basics of it.”

“Great, I’ll just give you the details, then. So, the plan is a series of steps that we are going to take in order to reach a goal- in your case, the goal would be to be able to perform normally in the King and the Skater- plotted on a day-to-day basis. The challenges gradually get larger as we progress. For example, on Day Four, we’d have you perform in front of three people, while on Day Fifteen, we’d have you perform in front of a reasonably-sized coffee shop.”

The words _reasonably-sized coffee shop_ made Yuuri’s gut crawl, but he supposed that was the point. “Got it.”

“Every day, you will exercise, practice proper breathing techniques, and stay on a carefully regulated meal plan,” Takeda said. “This will ensure that you will be in an optimal physical state when you get onstage a few months later.”

“Is there any medication involved?” Yuuri asked slowly. That was the deal breaker.

“No- is that an issue?”

“Okay,” Yuuri said, “I’m in.”

\---

Day One of the plan simply involved the three of them figuring out the reasons behind their stage fright and coming up with a statement to refute it. Takeda assured them they didn’t necessarily have to _believe_ the statement, not yet. It was just a mantra to chant over and over in their heads when they encountered a difficult situation.

Yachi went first. “I’m scared the audience will hate me!”

“Yachi,” Yuuri said seriously, “It’s literally impossible not to like you. Scientifically proven.”

Yachi turned the same shade as a tomato before passing the paper onto Yamaguchi, who said, “I’m scared I’ll mess up.”

“You won’t mess up,” Yuuri said.

“Yamaguchi, fight!” Yachi said. It made Yamaguchi smile a little bit- perhaps it was an inside joke of some sort.

“Yuuri?” Yamaguchi asked.

“I’m afraid I’m not good enough,” Yuuri confessed. There was a beat of dead silence before Yamaguchi and Yuuri both swiveled around to stare at him, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“You?” Yamaguchi sputtered. “But you’re amazing!”

“Seriously! That video gave me the chills!”

_You don’t have to believe it yet_ , Yuuri told himself, before scrawling “You are good enough” onto the piece of paper.

\---

The next day, Yuuri told Sugawara he’d be joining the musical, who smiled knowingly and told Yuuri that he had absolute faith in him. The following hour, Yuuri was pretty much in shock.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri said. He stared numbly at the ceiling. “Oh my god.”

He could hear Phichit’s smirk over the phone.

“What did I just do,” Yuuri mumbled, more to himself than Phichit.

“I’m not sure,” Phichit said thoughtfully. “But I love it.”

\---

Yuuri went to the first rehearsal with his stomach tied in knots, staring longingly at the backstage door. Surprisingly, though, it was easy. He didn’t even have to go on stage, since this rehearsal was solely composed of a welcome speech and a read-through of the musical without any actual singing.

“All right!” Daichi called. Everyone- cast, backstage, orchestra, publicity, _everyone_ \- was present. They took up nearly half the seats. “We’re going to put on the best musical that this world has ever seen! Who’s with me?” The resulting cheer echoed off the walls of the room.

“Which means I will have to go over some expectations.” The room groaned, and Daichi fixed the crowd with a death glare. “No laziness will be permitted within the walls of this theater. You are to strictly adhere to schedule- I don’t care if you’re the star of the show or some guy backstage, you’re easily replaceable. Understand?” A murmur of assent rose up from the crowd.

Daichi’s speech went on for half an hour before he said his last words, and Suga stepped onstage. “Sorry, we’re required to go over rules,” he said. His voice hardened to steel. “But, you guys _will_ follow them. Don’t expect me to be the nice guy here, because I can assure you, I’m not.” He smiled. “You guys can go about your business now, but cast members, stay in the room. We’re starting read throughs.”

It was a little rough at first, but eventually, Yuuri lost himself in his role. The King and the Skater was essentially about a figure skater named Arthur who got thrown backwards in time by his magical trading card game (seriously, set was going to have some trouble with this one). The title was slightly inaccurate- Oikawa was really playing the Prince, not the King- but people were willing to overlook that in favor of the excellent soundtrack.

It wasn’t bad at all, Yuuri thought, but then again, he was safely seated with a script in his hands. Opening night would be much, much different.

\---

It was the third day of rehearsal when disaster struck.

Yuuri would be onstage today, learning the choreography for _Skating On Thin Ice_ , which was that one song in the King and the Skater that doesn’t _explicitly_ say that the prince and the skater were falling in love, but yeah, they were totally falling in love.

“READY TO GET YOUR MAGICAL ASSES ONSTAGE?”

“CHRIS!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Chris said, sounding absolutely not sorry at all. Yuuri clambered up- oh, _dammit_ , he tripped- and made his way to center stage, where Oikawa was waiting.

Minako, after grumbling about the difficulty of having an _ice skater_ as a main character, eventually decided on a sequence that had Yuuri and Oikawa mirror each other’s movements while never acknowledging that the other was there. The movements were fluid and graceful, as close to ice skating as dry land could get.

Yuuri hoped Oikawa didn’t hate him or anything. Most of Minako’s criticisms had been aimed at Oikawa so far, but that was only because Yuuri had been exposed to much of the choreography already, being Minako’s friend. Yuuri wouldn’t blame Oikawa for hating him, anyway- Oikawa was really talented. He probably figured someone like Yuuri didn’t even belong on stage.

Anyway. The Disaster. It happened right at the end of rehearsal, right as Yuuri was about to breathe a sigh of relief. Ensemble had come in to watch because they’d been done for the day, and Minako had finished teaching them all the steps and had asked them to perform the entire thing with vocals.

“Ready?” Oikawa asked. The orchestra started up, and Oikawa began to sing his part. “You’ve always seen me through the screen/or standing in the crowd/and you didn’t think I knew your name/until I spoke aloud…”

Oikawa’s voice was smooth and melodic, calming him down. Yuuri was able to slip into the duet portion of the song with no problem, singing, “We’re skating on thin ice/and I’m falling through the surface/the world ain’t black and white/but I know that we can do this…”

But then it was his turn, and midway through his singing he realized that there were people _watching_ him, which caused him to flail and overshoot on his spin.

Like, _really_ overshoot on his spin.

He fell back, his foot catching on something with the tremendous crash of keys, and Yuuri landed in a bruised heap on the ground. “Pathetic,” someone mumbled, and Yuuri shriveled inside.

“Hey, here are your glasses,” someone else said, and Yuuri blindly reached out and took them from their hand. He put them on, and Yuuri gaped. Looking down at him is _Victor fucking Nikiforov_ , world-renowned pianist who-

“I just fell on your piano,” Yuuri said numbly.

“That’s fine! It’s not broken. Are you okay, though?”

“Yes, but- you’re _Victor Nikiforov_ -”

“I am aware that’s my name?”  

“-And I just fell on your piano and _oh my god_ I am so sorry-”

“No, really, it’s fine! You’re fine!” But Yuuri had already scrambled up and was now looking to put as much distance between himself and the orchestra pit as possible. He got back up on stage, resuming the song with burning cheeks, and made sure to stay well away from the edge of the stage. Fortunately, the rehearsal ended a few minutes later, allowing Yuuri to bolt out the door and into the nearest bathroom.

Yachi found him- what the heck, why was she in the boys’ bathroom- and quickly said, “No one’s judging you. Well, I mean, this one guy said something- but your friend started yelling at him! Really loudly! A bunch of other people joined in!”

Jesus Christ. Yuuri sighed, pushing his hair away from his face. “I fell off stage.”

“It could happen to anyone! Please don’t worry!”

“On _Victor Nikiforov’s piano_.”

“Well, he doesn’t hate you,” Yachi said, squaring her shoulders. “Trust me. The way he was talking to you- it was like he wanted to get to know you better. I know what negative feelings look like, and it really wasn’t that.”

“Fine,” Yuuri said, not sure whether or not he believed her.

“C’mon,’ Yachi said encouragingly. “Let’s get out of here. I feel really really awkward.”

They walked out of the bathroom and down the hall. “According to the plan, we’re going into one of the practice rooms to sing in front of each other. Just me and you and Yamaguchi. We’ll take turns.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said. He followed her down the hall, trying to calm his racing heart. Why did performing in front of Yachi and Yamaguchi sound simultaneously too easy and too hard all at the same time?

Yamaguchi was waiting for them inside one of the practice rooms. “Hey,” he said. “Who’s going first?”

“I’ll go,” Yuuri said, wanting to get it over with. He went to the front of the room, deciding to re-sing the song that he’d fallen off the stage with. It was over in what seemed like eternity, but then Yachi and Yamaguchi were both hooting and clapping, and a voice that _definitely_ didn’t belong to them was shouting from the doorway. “That was wonderful!”

Victor Nikiforov stepped inside the room, and Yuuri tried not to shriek. “Hey,” Victor said, wearing a heart-shaped smile. “Sorry for interrupting!”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri stuttered.

“Anyway, Yuuri, I have a proposal. In return for falling on the piano today-” Yuuri wanted to die “-how about you practice with me sometime? In a private session?”

Yuuri gaped.

“He’d love to!” Yachi squealed. “Right, Yuuri?”

“R-right,” Yuuri gasped. _Had Yachi been possessed by Phichit? I’m certain I heard his voice._

Victor beamed. “Excellent!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Melodics and I actually ended up writing the song 'Skating On Thin Ice'- http://archiveofourown.org/works/9351536- if you want to check it out!


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